


You Left My Dog on a Submarine?!

by BlessedMasochist



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-02-09 22:51:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18647728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlessedMasochist/pseuds/BlessedMasochist
Summary: Oswald discovers that Edward left his beloved pet on their submarine and demands he be retrieved. Despite his dislike for the dog Edward feels incredibly guilty for disfiguring Oswald's eye and returns to the docks to retrieve him. After a bath for the dog and fresh bandages for Oswald, Edward takes some time to contemplate the choices he's made.





	You Left My Dog on a Submarine?!

**Author's Note:**

> There was apparently a deleted scene in which Barbara fires a rocket launcher at the submarine when Nyssa gets inside. Edward the Dog is said to have survived, so this fic is based around that idea.

“Edward Nygma, you go get my dog right now!”

The demand echoed off the tile noisily, sending a fresh throbbing pain through Oswald’s skull. His eye stopped bleeding, but the pain had yet to subside- despite the various amounts of scavenged pain medication he’d washed down with a liberal amount of scotch. It was a hot, throbbing sort of pain that sunk into his skull like a dagger, and shouting like that really only made it worse, but honestly - who leaves a dog alone in a submarine?

“If you keep flailing around like that you’ll start bleeding again” Edward grit out, knowing that the irate man had no interest in a real explanation, he just wanted to throw a fit about it. The tantrum was almost endearing, were Oswald’s anger not directed at him.

“He’s been alone for nearly 24 hours Ed!” Oswald pounded his fist against the leather-upholstered arm of the high backed chair he was brooding in. “He’s probably hungry and scared, my poor baby…” his voice cracked a faintly, belying a genuine worry that Edward couldn’t hope to ignore, not with a clean conscious.  
  
“I’ll go back to the dock and get him, just… take a breath Ossie.” Edward assured in defeat, hands raised passively before him in assurance. “Rest, I’ll change your bandages when I get back,” he murmured patiently, avoiding eye contact as he dug around in his pocket for a set of keys. It already haunted him, the morbid sight of jagged flesh oozing around his dear friends eye. There was no telling what sort of permanent damage could occur because of Oswald’s sacrifice, and he was at a loss; what could be said or done now?

Guilt slithered in the pit of his stomach as he made the drive down to the docks, unable to shake the gruesome image. He’d dismembered bodies on more than one occasion – why did the sight of Oswald’s eye make the bile rise in his throat?

Pulling up at the end of the pier, he parked the car, digging in the glove box for a large flashlight. Peering into the darkness, he flicked it on, searching the shadows for the familiar shape of the submarine he’d spent nearly a year building. ‘For what? Nothing,’ he thought bitterly, chewing the inside of his cheek as he strode down the damp wooden walkway.

Something was missing. He picked up the pace, racing to the last known location of his magnum opus.

Gone.

Suddenly his nose picked up on the acrid smell of burning fuel, and a sweep of the flashlight revealed the smoldering wreckage of the underwater craft. “Are you kidding me?!” he shouted furiously into the abyss but his anger was short lived,  a cold chill seizing him at the horrifying realization – Edward the Dog was nowhere to be found.

“Oh dear…” he gasped, eyes darting about frantically. If that dog was dead because of him Oswald would never forgive him. “EDWARD!” he shouted, spiraling in to a panic as he ran up and down the edge of the pier, flashlight desperately searching for a sign of the pup.

A disgruntled snort sounded from behind a sagging stack of wooden crates, and slowly, the chunky dog emerged, soaking wet but seemingly unharmed. Upon spotting the tall man, he bound forward noisily, drool dangling from his jowls as he put two muddy paws up on his pristine green suit pants.

“Bad dog!” he protested hoarsely, attempting to disengage himself, but the damage was already done. The animal was filthy, and no amount of coaxing could convince him to follow Edward into the car. With little choice, he bent at the waist to heft the wriggling animal into his arms, further soiling his outfit.

Overjoyed to have company, Edward the Dog struggled eagerly to place several smelly wet kisses down the side of Edward the Human’s cheek and neck as he staggered back to the car, dumping the slobbering pooch in the passenger seat with a scowl. “You filthy mutt, Oswald gave me this suit,” he grumbled, sliding behind the wheel to start the car. “You smell horrible, why does he care about you so much?” Edward continued, as though it weren’t completely absurd to hold a one sided conversation with the dog. He could not help but note how his panting jowls resembled a smile, though he sternly reminded himself that dogs do not smile. “I can’t believe he named you after me…” A fresh wave of guilt washed over him. “I don’t deserve his adoration, I’ve been a terrible friend and now he’s been disfigured because of my cowardice!”  The dog leaned over and nosed at his sleeve, an action that was almost comforting, had it not been smeared with snot.

Parking behind the building, Edward pushed inside the library with a huff, placing the overweight pup on the floor with a dramatic flourish.

 “My baby!”

Oswald rose from his chair with a grunt, carefully sinking to his knees to embrace his beloved pet as he barreled towards him, nails clicking merrily against the tile. “Oh my sweet boy, I was so worried…” he crooned, peppering kisses over the dog’s snuffling face. After a moment, Edward caught his eye, standing sullenly in the doorway with his arms folded.

“You’re filthy, what happened?” Oswald noted in amusement, as though it had nothing to do with him.

“Your mongrel is the filthy one,” he snapped sourly, polishing the dog saliva from his glasses.

“Would you help me give him a bath?” the smaller man asked suddenly, sounding uncharacteristically polite as he struggled to stand once more, head pounding painfully. “I’m ah- feeling a bit under the weather”, he added quietly.

Edward’s gaze was met with bloodied bandages once more and any resentment that had accumulated inside him vanished. “…Sure” he sighed quietly, following after Oswald as they moved into the modestly sized bathroom. His insides twisted uncomfortably as he watched his friend struggle to lift the dog into the claw foot tub, hands fumbling unsteadily for the taps. Silently, Edward moved to the other side of the tub, removing his jacket to roll up his sleeves before kneeling to remove the soiled collar from Edward the Dog’s pudgy neck.

Oswald laughed softly as the animal twisted his head around in a vain attempt to lick Ed’s hands, distracting him with a dollop of soap, which he gently rubbed into the brown and white fur. The pup seemed to enjoy baths as much as his owner – it was a struggle to get him out of the tub and into a towel, but between the two of them they managed to dry him off. The dog made a beeline for the fireplace and the villains followed after, Oswald sinking immediately into one of the large armchairs.

His fingers slid tentatively up the side of his face, tracing the raw edge of the bandage cautiously. “I’m going to lose this eye aren’t I?” he sighed quietly, imagining the carnage that surely lay beneath the stained bandages.

“I… No Oswald, you’ll be fine,” Edward said, surprising himself. Why was he lying? To spare the smaller man’s vanity? Or to assure himself he was free of guilt? “Sit back, I should change those before you retire.” Gently, he placed a glass in the smaller man’s hand, filling it generously with scotch. “Drink this while I gather supplies, you can have another Percocet before bed.” Not exactly healthy for the liver, but it would certainly numb the pain.

Oswald took a large gulp, hissing as the liquid burned it way down into his stomach.

 Pulling the second armchair close, he seated himself across from Oswald, steadying himself with a shaky breath as he reached forward to carefully unwind the bandages. “I apologize for any pain this causes,” he whispered, noting how Oswald’s jaw tightened.

“It’s fine,” he lied softly through tightly grit teeth, clenching his fist as the final layer was separated from the oozing skin with a painful tear that forced a cry from his throat. There hadn’t been much time to clean the wound in the chaos before; dark, dried clumps of congealed blood obscured the crevices of the wound, making it nearly impossible to see just how bad the damage is. Chewing his lip, he took Oswald’s hand in his own, placing it on a clothed knee. “This will hurt, I’m sorry” he whispered, looking heartbroken as his eyes flit between a wide blue eyes and a gaping wound. “Squeeze as hard as you want, I won’t say a word” he insist.

Oswald drained his glass and braced his over hand on the arm of his chair as he watched Edward empty a bottle of peroxide onto a cotton swab carefully clamped between a pair of tweezers. The moment it made contact with his skin it was as though a fire had broken out across his face, a vicious stinging penetrating the deep edges of the wound as a cry tore itself from his throat. Instantly his fingers were like a vice around Edward’s knee, blunt nails digging into the leather armchair with equal strength as he struggled through the treatment.

Grimacing, the taller man worked as quickly as he could, relieved to see that despite what appeared to be a minor orbital fracture and a laceration to the eyelid that would need stitches, the eye itself seemed to be in relatively good shape, though only time would tell if his vision could be restored. “You need stitches in your eyelid…” he murmured with a heavy swallow, earning a discouraged cry from his dear friend. “Can you turn and lean back?”

With Edward’s help, Oswald was situated backwards, chair pulled forward so that he could lay with his head in the other man’s lap. The alcohol was doing its job, though nothing can prepare a person for the sensation of a needle pushing through the thin flesh of an eyelid; the small man lost consciousness after a few seconds afterward.

 “Oswald…” Edward hiccuped quietly, eyes prickling as he strained to work carefully by the light of the fire. Soon the wound was stitched, disinfected, and bandaged once more. With a grunt, he heft the smaller man carefully into his arms, laying him down in the bed gently before dressing him down to his underwear and pulling the sheets over his unconscious form. Edward the dog waddled in, and though he was exhausted, he bent to help the dog up onto the bed, smiling faintly as the pet snuggled in beside Oswald’s legs.

“I know that you can’t hear me right now…” Edward began quietly, sitting against the edge of the mattress with a shuddering sigh. “…I know that you said it was the least you could do.” It was dreadful, these emotions, some that he hadn’t acknowledged in several months, all bubbling inside him like vomit. “I’m sorry that I made you feel like you had to sacrifice yourself for me…” he wept, swiping at his cheeks. “You’re my best friend… Nobody else has ever accepted me so wholly and I couldn’t see that, you’ve spent so long trying to prove it to me...”

“Eddie…”

He looked up suddenly at the intimate whisper of his name, eyes unmistakably red as he looked down at Oswald.

“S’ okay... lie down” the smaller man murmured, words slurring together slightly as he struggled to keep his eye open. “We need t’ rest, big plans soon…” A shaky hand smoothed gently against his dirty pant leg, and he was thrown back several years in time to a night similar; Oswald lay bandaged in his bed, murmuring quietly in the dark as Edward kept watch over his healing wounds. Fate certainly was funny.

_Useless to One, Priceless to Two._

_Life Begins Anew._

 

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